A New Dawn
by Thorntangle
Summary: The war between Starclan and the Dark Forest has become a distant and faded memory. Many generations after the "Four" the Clans enter a bitter and bloody war. As leafbare falls, a deadly sickness sweeps through the already weakened clans. Tensions are high and prey is scarce. A prophecy is given and a difficult decision must be made if the Clans are to survive.


**An idea I've been sitting on for awhile...may turn into something.**

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The wind caused the bare branches to scrape together; the sound not unlike bones being rattled. It was cold, the sun not yet in the sky. Frost clung to the bare brambles and glittered upon the hard earthen floor of the hollow. A cat trotted across the open span of ground inside the bramble thicket, un-ruffled by the moaning of the wind. Behind the confident feline, along the edge of the bramble wall, eyes glowed and the shadows seemed to move.

The cat ducked under a low pine branch and wove its way to the den near the tree's trunk. In a nest of moss, another cat crouched. The cat, whose thin fur was fluffed up against the cold, was wheezing. As its companion sat down on the pine needles and wrapped its tale around its legs, the cat in the nest opened its eyes. Though the cat was ill and terribly thin, its green eyes were bright.

"So," The cat in the nest, a tom, struggled for breath, "you've returned."

The cat who was sitting twitched its whiskers. "Prey is scarce, it is good to know that if I do not catch something, someone else will and I will still be able to eat."

The cat in the nest laughed, which brought on a bout of coughing.

"I'll fetch Mistpelt."

"No," the word was only a rasp, but the she-cat sat back down and wrapped her tail around her paws. "Can't you see I'm beyond the help of a medicine cat, kit?"

The she cat narrowed her eyes. "All I see is a bad tempered elder who could use a fat mouse and some herbs."

The tom meowed in amusement. The sound was as dry and hair-raising as the bare branches scraping together. "The whole clan could do with a fat mouse, kit."

The she cat lashed her tail. She was a tall, lithe creature, in the prime of her life. Though she was thin and her coat was dull due to lack of nourishment, muscles rippled under her pelt when she moved. "I'm not a kit."

"You're a kit barely out of the nursery. You haven't seen half as many leafbares as I have and-"

"That is only because you're as ancient as Starclan itself."

The tom hissed. "That sharp tongue of yours will get you into trouble."

"It's almost as sharp as my claws." The she cat replied sarcastically.

The tom closed his eyes. "Starclan knows why I ever choose you. Of all my deputies, you would be the one to survive and succeed me."

"I suppose there is always a first for everything," the she cat's startling blue eyes were alight with humor, "A _kit_ in charge of the greatest and most ferocious clan by the lake."

The tom opened his eyes. "The smallest, sickest and hungriest clan by the lake." The she cat opened her mouth as if to argue, but the tom narrowed his eyes. "Don't argue with me, you see it every day," the tom coughed, "the clan is slowly starving to death, while some of its members find a quick, albeit painful death in sickness or battle. Battles, I caused."

The she cat's tone was no longer sharp and teasing, "Snakestar-"

"Quiet!" The tom broke out into a coughing fit. When he was able to speak his voice was low and raspy. "Don't treat me as if I'm an apprentice who caught a vole instead of the mouse he was stalking. I'm trying to impart some wisdom into that feather brained head of yours, kit."

The she cat sighed and waited for her leader to continue.

"Think things through," the tom cleared his throat and his voice took on the clarity and power it once held moons ago, "every decision you make greatly affects your clan and the others. One battle is not simply one battle; it can become a war, alliances or hatred that will haunt you for the rest of your life."

Through the gaps in the branches overhead, weak sunlight streamed through. The sun was just beginning to rise above the trees. The she cat glanced up, but the tom did not take his gaze off of his deputy.

"Go," the tom sighed, his voice once again raspy and on the verge of becoming a cough at any second, "organize the dawn patrol, if you can, I doubt you can do much of the four warriors left."

"We have nine warriors left." The she cat replied briskly.

The tom growled. "How many of the nine are not dying in their nests or already frozen through?"

The she cat got to her paws and stretched. "At last count, seven were still unfrozen and five of the seven still able to breath easily."

"Wonderful," the tom growled darkly, "just enough to dig my grave."

The she cat laughed. "There's nothing left of you to bury," she flicked her tail at the tom, "you're all fur and bones. I'll just have one of the apprentices drag you out of camp and let the wind blow you away."

The tom narrowed his eyes, but purred softly. "Go and organize the patrol, and then come back."

The she cat slipped out of the den, but talked as she went. "Why, so you can impart more wisdom unto me?"

"No," the tom raised his voice as the she cat ducked underneath the pine branch and made her way over to the group of cats huddle against the bramble wall, "I want you to come back so that I can claw your ears, it's been far too long since the last time I put you in your place, kit."

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**Well, if I get enough reviews, perhaps I'll post the first chapter.**


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